Definitions
by ZG Vallea
Summary: Oi, it's the sequel to Trap. But it turned out to be so convoluted that I couldn't make it into a second chapter. This is a very messy fic, not making sense (really), so you have been warned.


Definitions  
  
  
I have nothing to say now, because I said all I could in that room back there. Maybe I said the wrong things, or asked the wrong question, because I don't know why he said nothing. Nothing. I thought the silence would drown out all the thoughts in my head, but it only fueled them. And I couldn't breathe well, I was so nervous then...   
  
He said nothing to me...   
  
No, I didn't give him a chance to say anything. God, I feel like a fool. But what could he have said? What could he?   
  
In thinking it over now, he probably wouldn't have said what I wanted to hear. But even so, I'm not very sure of what I want to hear. Especially from him. Of him, my thoughts stray in a million directions. I keep grasping at the things that I want to say, that I should say to him, but they're so elusive that they slip through my fingers like so much sand.   
  
He said nothing. His words, though, if he had said something, would have been more meaningful than the useless sand out there in the open. Words and grains of sand are cheap, but I think, _not his_. Not his.   
  
So I go to my room, thinking over those events, and wonder what he might be thinking about at this moment. Maybe thoughts similar to mine? No, that'd be too much of a coincidence, and even so, his thoughts are probably harsher than my own. Cursing me with so many words that are never spoken to my face, or even to the air; I'm so certain this must be happening.   
  
I asked him what he thought of himself, because I wanted to know if my own thoughts of him could be justified. And when I knew he wouldn't justify them for me, I lied. Words spilled forth and I lied to him. I told him what I wanted to hear, what I wished he would say to me. Then I lied again, because it wasn't a joke. I fell into my own trap, and I couldn't get out. So I said another thought, and left.   
  
It was unbearable to stay in a room where thoughts couldn't be organized, and where words couldn't be so honest. But I was finally honest, at the end.   
  
In the end, all I can ask for is to be heard, just for a little while.   
  
A knock on the door disturbs me, and I'm afraid it might be him. It's very likely, after all, but I don't want to pray it's not him, because I also want to pray that it is. It's so hard to know what to wish for... so I'll stop wishing, and open the door.   
  
I open the door. He stands in front of me, looking into my eyes with no discernible expression about his face. Maybe I am imagining things, and don't see him. Maybe he is an illusion created by my chaotic mind. Maybe I'm wrong.   
  
"I don't kill people because it's not my right. Life is precious, don't you know."   
  
I nod. I know.   
  
"I do the things I do because I must. No one else will do them for me."   
  
I nod again. I understand this.   
  
"But of myself, I don't think much. Because my own definition of 'me' comes from other definitions. Other people define me, and I can agree or disagree, and modify the thoughts accordingly. I can be sure of myself because others are so sure of me." He tilts his head and closes his eyes. "Do you understand what I mean?"   
  
He smiles the smile I hate. I think he might be lying, but I also think some of that is the truth. I'll have to say something, if I want to know what is truth and what is lie.   
  
"Don't say that."   
  
He opens his eyes, but keeps smiling. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Your smile. You're not happy with the way people define you. Can't you define yourself?"   
  
The smile falters, and he stares again. Go ahead and contemplate, but I'm going to speak now.   
  
"If you keep waiting for people to bring you their definitions, then you're being foolish. Define yourself; you're a smart man. You can't rely on others all your life to tell you who you are. It's your life, so you decide what you make of it."   
  
I turn away and walk further into the room, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. I won't turn back to see if he goes, because I'm beyond that now. I didn't even know if I wanted the answers to my earlier questions, and now that I have them, I'm not sure what to do with them. So I'll let the words float in the air awhile, and see what happens.   
  
Footsteps sound, telling me he comes forth. I glance back and see his head bowed. He seems at this moment to be reluctant in showing whatever conflict might be going on within his mind. Finally, he looks up at me, and I notice the hesitant water building around his eyes.   
  
"You know, Wolfwood..."   
  
No; please tell me.   
  
"She would have said something like that. She would have told me to lead my own life, instead of hanging onto someone else's thoughts and definitions."   
  
I don't ask who she is, and I really don't want to know. I'm more concerned with him at this moment than anything else.   
  
"I can move on while taking in new perspectives too... and there's nothing wrong with remembering the past, right?" A shy smile curves his lips as he tries to blink away the coming tears.   
  
"I can't forget her, Wolfwood. I won't forget her. I don't care what you ask, I won't--"   
  
I interject, "I didn't ask you to forget her, all I said--"   
  
"No, you're asking me to forget her! To leave everything behind so I can 'define myself' in my own way! She defines me, Wolfwood, and I can't ignore that!"   
  
Oh, the shouting begins.   
  
"She defines you? Sounds like you depend a little too much on her, so much so that you can't do anything else but hang onto her memory!"   
  
"You don't know anything about her! Who are you to judge?!"   
  
"Who am I to judge?! I'm your friend, that's who! And it sounds like you've shaped your whole existence around her!" I sneer at him; this isn't going well. "And you say she would have told you to lead your own life. Well, are you listening to her?"   
  
Obviously taken back, he says, "Shut up, Wolfwood..."   
  
But I continue. "It seems to me this girl was infinitely smarter than you, Vash, because she probably lived her own life!"   
  
With that comes silence. Another wretched, damned silence that I wish would go to hell. But this... this came from hell, I'm certain of it. We glare each other down, almost to the point where our heated glances seem to be ready to burn the place to ashes. Who will be the one to turn away first?   
  
Well, it's not me, since he turns away now and bows his head again. It hurts to see him like this, but what else can I say? I've already said everything now. I curse softly and turn away too. I can't look anymore--   
  
All of a sudden hands clamp my shoulders and whirl me around so that I face him. Upon his face is an expression of contemplation that I marvel at, but with no revealing expression of my own. Then, he says:   
  
"We shouldn't be fighting, Wolfwood. There's no reason to it."   
  
Without further ado, he leans in and kisses me. It is a soft kiss, one a person can appreciate, but not without movement so that it doesn't drown in its reflection. My eyes close for this, and I take my fair share of the bargain we make, the small promise we set forth in this action. Smoke intermingles with, I don't know, glazed donuts, but it's a slice of heaven if I ever knew one.   
  
We break apart. I tell him, "I'm not telling you to forget her. I'm just saying that you shouldn't base your reality on her definition. What about your own definition? Or are you so wrapped up with her that you can't even see yourself?"   
  
He wears no smile, and because of this, I have never seen a truer expression of quiet sorrow in my life.   
  
"But she defines me... I know this. That's who I am, Wolfwood; I'm her definition of Vash, and nothing else."   
  
He pulls away from me and begins to walk out of the room. "That is the real trap, Wolfwood. Don't fall into it yourself." And then, he is gone.   
  
I don't know if I should obey his advice. If she is his trap, then I have fallen willingly into his. Yet, somehow I know he is in mine too, and I can't help but wonder what his definition of me is.   
  
I can't define him, though. Perhaps that is where all my words have gone, into him. Am I trapped by my definition of him?   
  
I think this is an excellent question, so I follow him to figure out. 


End file.
